


It's The Fall That'll Kill You

by Siobhan_Schuyler



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cowboys, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-26
Updated: 2006-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhan_Schuyler/pseuds/Siobhan_Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ackles ranch is big. Prospering. The pay will be good here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's The Fall That'll Kill You

The cabin is twelve feet by eighteen, bigger than Jared anticipated, if he had expected anything. The wood paneling betrays the age of the shack, but very little else does. There's a narrow metal bed with a new mattress, clean sheets and a blanket folded up nice next to a flat pillow yet to be beaten into shape. The writing desk is old, its surface bare but for a manila envelop he's been told contains the necessary paperwork from his new employer.

There's a small plywood closet in the corner, its doors gaping. Metal hangers hung in a neat row click quietly together in the faint breeze wafting in, hot and dry, from the window that overlooks one of the corrals. The square of landscape Jared can see from where he stands is shades of yellow and brown, familiar, comforting. His boots rasp against the wooden planks of the flooring when he moves to sit on the edge of the bed next to his duffel. For a moment he watches the curtain on the window undulate limply, half blocking out the dusty sunlight; it gives the single room an almost welcoming feel.

The Ackles ranch is big. Prospering. The pay will be good here.

He stacks his three pairs of jeans up and his small stack of t-shirts on the shelf above the hangers. He'll need to purchase a decent pair of slacks with his first pay, if he's going to be around these people for long. The opportunity is bound to come up where he'll need to look nicer than he usually does. He did bring one good shirt, which he hangs up along with his coats, one denim and one leather for when the weather's less scorching. It used to be nice, when his Ma got it for him five or six years ago, but now it's got this nice worn feel to it.

The tiny bathroom, with barely any room to turn around in, features a curtained-off shower head hanging over a square of tiles and a rusted drain. Jared fits whatever he hasn't run out of yet (soap, shampoo, toothbrush, shaving cream, need to get a new razor, lost the last one in the shuffle over from across the state) in the tiny cabinet above the sink. He tucks his wallet in there too, in case the other hands get any bright ideas. He stashes his extra pair of boots by the empty duffel at the bottom of the closet.

The cabin doesn't look any different but already feels a little more like home, or a reasonable enough approximation of it. He snatches his hat up from where he left it on the bed and pushes the screen door out into the dusty afternoon.

*

The last thing Jensen wants to do after spending a morning in town with his dad and his brother is to show the new hand the ropes. He'd much rather have skipped the meeting and picked the kid up at the bus station himself early this morning; he'd be most of the way through the tour by now instead of his whole afternoon being shot to hell already. He just hopes this one has some experience, and won't need much more than to be shown where things are and be left alone.

Jensen took his own truck into town which got him a whole hour's reprieve from Dad and Josh's bickering. All he wants right now is a cold beer and to kick his boots off, but there's a new hire waiting, most likely already at his kitchen table. Jensen heaves a weary sigh as he yanks open the truck's door and climbs in, setting his hat back on his head.

The truck kicks up a trail of dust all the way home.

*

Mrs. Ackles is exactly what you'd expect from a wealthy rancher's wife. In her early fifties but looking a good decade younger, her pale blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, her bangs extra crispy over perfect eyebrows. Her lipsticked smile parts warmly over the whitest teeth Jared's ever seen, and she beckons him closer from the veranda, calling his name enthusiastically. She's nothing like Jared's own mother, just like the house (two sprawling stories of blinding white siding) is nothing like the house back home.

But the way she says it, his name has the shape it has when his Ma calls after him, and Jared follows her inside, hat in hand, answering her smile with one of his own. Exclaiming about the weather and how glad she is that her husband finally got someone to replace that no-good boy from Crawford, she leads him into the kitchen, a wide room of wooden surfaces and patterned fabric either picked by Mrs. Ackles herself or by a decorator with an eye for her personality. A small Mexican woman at the stove nods brightly at Jared as they pass her to get to the table, where Mrs. Ackles parks him solidly into one of the oak chairs.

"Right on time, kid. Alan and the boys'll get back in from town any minute now, expectin' lunch. Lemonade?"

Jared barely has time to accept gratefully before a tall glass is sweating in front of him. He manages a bewildered, "Thank you, ma'am," and hooks his hat on the chair next to his. Mrs. Ackles busies herself helping the woman at the stove, and it's only when he breathes in the strong scent of cooked meat that Jared realizes he hasn't eaten since he left Mason the day before.

Mrs. Ackles hasn't stopped talking but doesn't really seem to require a particular audience. Between Luisa (the housekeeper, Jared finds out) and himself, she seems to be happy with the ears she has, and has been going on about the state of the stables, neighboring businesses, and a fancy cook-out someone is planning for next month, after the show where Mr. Ackles is planning to run a couple of mares.

By the time Jared hears the sounds of boots in the foyer, he feels like he's read up a whole book on the Ackles Stables and met the entire family. Which is not to say he's prepared when the owner of the boots struts in, looking tired but expectant. The guy's greeting to his mother peters out when his eyes meet Jared's over his mother's shoulder. Jared swallows thickly, the citrus and sugar suddenly thick on his tongue.

"Jensen, this here's the new help, straight from Mason. Well, San Antonio originally, Jared tells me, but he was workin' up in Mason for a cattle ranch up until four days ago. I think your daddy did a good thing here, kid looks a good one. Jared, this is my son Jensen. Jensen, say hello."

Jared smiles when he gets up to greet the young man. The chair skitters across the linoleum noisily behind him, and he grabs his hat by habit, without putting it on. He nods his head in greeting. "Hi."

Jensen Ackles' hand is solid in his, two hard shakes and a smooth disengagement. But try as he might, Jared can't tell a goddamn thing from the way the guy's brows are knit together, unreadable.

*

"Pleasure." Jensen nods back, his hand going to his own hat, tipping it before setting it on one of the hooks inside the kitchen door. "You havin' lunch with us, Jared?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have a seat, then." Jensen pulls out his own chair and plunks down, wiping sweat from his brow. Luisa sets a tall glass of lemonade down in front of him, patting his shoulder as she retreats. Jensen calls a "Gracias!" after her and takes a long swallow that's more sour than sweet, tickling the back of his throat into a cough. He studies Jared over the rim of the glass.

It's a good thing Mackenzie's only home for another week, because this one, tall as the day is long with a face like a fox, is right up her alley. Jared's sitting with his hands flat on his thighs, like he's waiting for the next instruction. It should come off as nervous and edgy, but there's a stillness in the posture, a kind of eager competence Jensen appreciates.

Jensen realizes the silence has stretched a beat too long when his mother nudges the leg of his chair with her toe. Jensen snaps out of it and smiles more intently across the table. He really wants to like this kid.

"You worked with horses much, Jared?"

He startles like he'd never been asked before. "I, uh. I grew up in a saddle. My family had a cattle ranch until year before last, then I worked a couple of jobs here and there. Never at a horse ranch, though," he adds apologetically. Jensen nods, listening and watching; Jared rubs his hands on his jeans before clasping them awkwardly, looking unwieldy on the carved wooden chair. "I know how to take care of them. I always did all the stable work back home. And the animals like me, usually, even the real ornery ones," Jared offers with an uncertain smile. He looks like he's holding his breath, trying to take up less room, waiting for Jensen to interrupt him.

After a beat, Jensen laughs and pushes a hand through his hair. "You're already about ten times as qualified as the last guy we had up here. I'm sure you'll do just fine."

Jared's smile widens, crooked, and Jensen leans back in his chair, thinking maybe they really did get lucky this time. Either that or Josh wised up and started making phone calls before going around and hiring people on a friend's word. The kid won't need much training after all.

Jensen's mother, oddly silent, grins at Jared from behind the counter where she's rearranging flowers in a vase. The flowers are fine, just like Jensen's sure the sauce Luisa is stirring at the stove is fine. Jared clears his throat, like he's searching for something to offer in the absence of instructions. "Do you want me to start right now? I'm pretty much set up back at the cabin, I can..."

"After lunch," Jensen says breezily, getting up. "But while the ladies of the house are getting it ready, we can take a walk. I can show you around a little, get you more familiar with the layout."

"Half an hour, boys, or we're eating without you," Mrs. Ackles calls, brandishing a bright yellow flower like a weapon. "I mean it."

Jensen kisses his mother's perfumed cheek. "Daddy and Josh'll be at least another hour." He taps his cell phone, tucked into a holder on his belt. "Just ring the dinner bell when it's ready."

Jared murmurs a quiet thanks as he passes, but whether it's to Jensen's mother or to Jensen himself for getting them out of there, Jensen's not sure. Jensen grabs his hat off the hook and sets it back on his head, following Jared out the back door.

*

The day has gotten even hotter, if that's possible, and Jared wonders why people endure August in Texas at all, when the air sears the lungs and the glare hurts the eyes. Jensen's strolling a little ahead of him, pointing out a building a little ways away, flat and sprawling and older than the stable they're coming up on. There's a large fenced field behind it, and Jared can hear the neighing of at least a dozen horses, out of sight.

"That's where most of them are. This," he continues with a keener tone as they walk into the darker confines of the stable, "is where we keep the ones we're showing, or the ones clients pay us to board and show. And _this_ is Sally." Jensen grins and rubs at the snout of a tawny mare. "She's not show but she's my girl, and she deserves only the best. Don't you, girl."

The animal snuffles at his palm enthusiastically, looking for a treat, then jerks her head away dramatically when she finds him bare-handed. Jensen laughs and Jared smiles, reaching out to run his hand down the strong muscles of her neck. She swings her head to him and blinks an eye inquisitively from beneath an unruly wisp of blond mane. Jared can see what Jensen sees in this one, and the fond look Jensen gives her as they move away isn't lost on Jared. Jared shoves his hands in his back pockets and follows.

The other horses are magnificent, truly spectacular animals that Jared's rarely seen the likes of. Jensen rattles off their names like they're old acquaintances, to the beat of hooves clopping at the ground and happy whinnying. His presence's creating quite the stir in the stable, and Jared feels the sudden stab of fondness for this guy.

Horses, Jared learned as a kid, are excellent judges of character. And they never lie.

*

Jensen watches Jared out the corner of his eye as they make their way down the row of stalls. Jensen names each occupant and notes with a twitch of a smile the way Jared's hand reaches out to each one to pat a neck or rub a nose, how he never starts at a sudden whinny or sharp clomp of a hoof. Even the pregnant mare, usually so skittish around strangers, only hesitates a moment before taking a palmful of oats from Jared's hand.

"They like you," Jensen grins, adjusting his hat as they step back out into the sun. "And they're a tough crowd, these show horses. Not easily impressed, lemme tell you."

When Jared shrugs and grins, his hand moves to the back of his neck where his hair's beginning to curl with sweat. Jensen looks away to keep from staring.

"I'll take you out to the other stable tomorrow morning, have you meet the other hands. You won't have to be out there much, just when we're short-handed. Mostly you'll be working in the stable here, just basic day-to-day stuff, and maybe a few things around the buildings or with the cars, whatever you can do. You're all set up in the cabin? I know it's nothing fancy, but you're welcome to fix it up however you like. Last guy we had in there was just up for the summer, so he didn't care much, and we'd just slapped on a fresh coat of paint inside and out before he came. Ma keeps talking about fixing it up proper, but never seems to get around to it."

Jensen shuts his mouth abruptly, realizing that he's babbling and that this kid probably doesn't give a shit about how old the fixtures on his bathroom sink are. But when he turns, Jared's watching him with the same patient curiosity he had with the horses, and Jensen looks away again, embarrassed, like he's been caught at something he shouldn't be doing.

"We should get back. Lunch'll be ready soon."

  



End file.
